


At Midnight

by everandanon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Misunderstandings, New Year's Eve, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:35:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22064872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everandanon/pseuds/everandanon
Summary: Dean Winchester's been trying to kiss his best friend all year, but the truth is, he's been in love with Cas for the lastten.But even if tonight's the night he finally succeeds - could Cas really ever feel the same way?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 46
Kudos: 278
Collections: The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	At Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> Additional warnings: suggestive dancing (Cas & Meg as well as Dean/Cas), mild bathroom humor, light references to past Dean/others. Please let me know if I missed something. (Implied sexual content is for literally one sentence that does not indicate anything specific about said content)
> 
> I woke up today and decided to write a wee, 1-2k New Year's fic to throw on tumblr, but of course this happened instead. I'm not sure this doesn't count as crack, for the record.
> 
> Happy New Year, lovely people. I hope it's a good one <3 Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy.

Tonight, Dean Winchester is going to kiss Castiel Novak.

“You said that at Thanksgiving.”

“Shut up, Charlie. That was different.”

“Right, right. Because _then,_ you had a way better excuse, and also there weren’t like, twenty other people with the same idea you have.”

Dean grits his teeth. He knows Charlie’s just teasing him, but Dean doesn’t doubt there are twenty people in their acquaintance who would totally kiss Cas (and more) if they thought they had a chance, and he’s been worried about it for _years._

Anyway, it hits way too close to home, and he doesn’t appreciate it.

“Nobody else is kissing Cas, even if I’m not, either,” he assures her grimly. “For the same reason Thanksgiving didn’t work out. Cas just – he doesn’t take these things seriously, okay? Guy’s oblivious.”

At least, Dean hopes that’s what it was. Sure, some people might say the dude you’ve been in love with since middle school opting to give you a chaste, friendly peck on the cheek beneath the mistletoe is a pretty clear ‘no thank you’ to anything more, _however,_ Dean is a reasonably intelligent, experienced person himself, and since that little cheek kiss happened after half a dozen other people went under and did the same, _he_ says Cas was just following their lead.

No, if Dean wants to find out whether or not Cas is interested in kissing him without making it obvious how bad _he_ wants to kiss _Cas,_ he’s gonna need a better test than mistletoe at a family gathering.

Enter New Year’s.

“Yes, he is,” Charlie agrees cryptically. “Which is why I’m kind of curious as to how exactly you think this is a better plan. Because actually, you _also_ said you were going to kiss him on Fourth of July.”

Dean makes a face. His plan to nonchalantly propose a game of Spin the Bottle – just for old time’s sake, no big deal – while they waited for fireworks to start backfired _miserably_ and ended with literally every single person in the circle planting one on Cas while Dean seethed silently in witness. Fortunately, Cas didn’t linger over any of them – it probably helped that it was just their really good friends, all of whom knew Dean had been in love with Cas for practically ever, and _also_ knew what he’d do if any of them _did_ try to linger – but the first glittering explosion in the dusky night sky happened right as his bottle slowly slid to a halt in front of Cas, and the game was forgotten.

(He maintains it wasn’t a _completely_ terrible plan. If he’d just been better at spinning, it totally would have worked.)

“Also doesn’t count. I just didn’t get lucky.”

“You bet you didn’t!” she crows, but Dean just looks back, unamused. Charlie sighs. “I’m just saying. How d’you know Meg’s not gonna swoop in with her sultry little, “Ooh, Clarence, I didn’t know you were coming out,” and steal third base right from under you?”

“She’s not,” he insists, trying not to think about Cas and third bases. “I already got Jo to promise to distract her.”

“Distract her or _distract_ her?”

“Yeah, I don’t care which. The point is, I’m kissin’ Cas at midnight and _nobody’s_ gonna stop me.” He pauses. “Except Cas, if – if he doesn’t want to.”

Dean really, really hopes he’ll want to.

In fact, Dean hopes it’ll be like that time Cas said he wasn’t a big fan of pie, but Dean made him a homemade blueberry crumble and Cas went starry-eyed and devoured it whole in one sitting.

“Ew. I don’t even want to know what you’re thinking about, right now.”

Dean clears his throat, tugging at his collar. It’s a little too close to a monkey suit for his liking, but all the girls he knows are wearing nice dresses, and polls show he looks damn good in formalwear, so a slick button-down and tie it is.

“Anyway – forget Thanksgiving and Fourth of July, less than a week ago at Christmas, you totally embarrassed yourself trying and failing to get your holy grail kiss.”

Dean turns scarlet.

“I – it – I wasn’t _seriously_ trying, you know, it just – it was just a thought. And it _could_ have worked, if he hadn’t been sick.”

Dressing up as Santa for their under-ten visitors and jokingly offering to let Cas sit on his lap was a much better idea than the Fourth of July shenanigans, in his opinion, except even though Cas predictably missed the joke and accepted (which Dean was hoping for), he also had flu and ended up puking on Dean’s itchy fake beard before his butt even made contact (which Dean was _not_ hoping for).

“Maybe,” she says, offensively doubtful. “Even if he hadn’t thrown up on you, though, you would have been way too chicken to try anything.”

He hesitates.

“I would not.”

“Mhm.”

“I _wouldn’t._ ”

Charlie coughs, smiling brightly.

“Of course. I’m just teasing you.”

She’s totally not.

Whatever, though. Tonight’s plan is flawless, and by the end of the night, they’ll see who’s laughing.

Which is to say, _neither_ of them, because Charlie will be too busy eating her unsupportive skeptic words, and Dean will be too busy making out with Cas.

(He hopes.)

“The point is – tonight? I’m kissing Cas. For _real,_ this time. And nobody, not Meg or Cecily or Balthazar or _anyone_ – is going to get in my way.”

Charlie studies him, contemplative, but he just squares his shoulders and gives her an even stare in return.

“You forgot somebody,” she finally says, and Dean scowls.

“ _Who_?”

“Yourself, dummy.” She shakes her head, patting him on the shoulder. “C’mon, I think we have time for _Mario Kart_ before we leave.”

And then she tosses a controller in his lap, and even though Dean’s not sure what the hell she’s talking about -

He grudgingly picks it up and plays.

When they get to Cas’s house, he’s already waiting on the porch, even though it’s way too cold out and he’s not wearing a coat.

The lack of coat makes it clear, however, that he _is_ wearing a full-blown _suit_.

“Fuck.”

Beside him, Charlie sighs.

“Really? This is a surprise to you? It’s New Year’s, Dean. Even _you_ put on a tie.”

Dean swallows, absently reaching up to said tie and tugging at the knot a little. Cas’s face lights up when he sees them, and he starts striding to the car, all sure, graceful limbs in neatly pressed black slacks and jacket. His hair, of course, is still a disaster.

He looks so fucking _good._

“Yeah, but – he always just wears his button-downs and trenchcoat, you know? I figured tonight wouldn’t be any different.”

She smirks, giving him a sidelong glance.

“Right, and it wouldn’t, except I’m your friend and I love you, so _I_ took his suit to the cleaners with my dress. You’re welcome.”

“Yeah, thanks, Charlie,” he agrees distractedly, hastily flipping the locks so Cas can get in. Up close, Dean can see how red his nose and ears are getting, and he immediately shrugs out of his jacket and throws it over the seat as Cas climbs in. “Dude, you couldn’t put on a coat?”

Cas looks dismayed.

“I would have, but Anna said not to take one I’d be sad if I lost.”

Translation: _I like all my coats. Why else would I own them?_

Anyway, that’s fair; it’s a nice venue – Bela’s inheritance is footing the bill for this one – but weird shit can happen at a coat check, no matter where you are. Certainly, Dean would hate it almost as much as Cas would if something happened to the trenchcoat; it’s practically a part of him, at this point.

“Well, put that on for now. We can just leave it in the car when we go in.”

Cas hesitates.

“Aren’t you cold?”

“Nope. Unlike you, I’ve spent the last ten minutes in a warm car. Seriously, just put it on, man.”

After a pause, Cas relaxes, shooting Dean a small, grateful smile as he gingerly picks up the jacket.

“Alright. Thank you, Dean.”

With a shrug, Dean turns back to the road, as casual and unconcerned as he can manage (despite stray thoughts of how that coat is still warm from _Dean’s_ body and what, if anything, does Cas think about that?).

“Sure, buddy. What are friends for?”

For some reason, Charlie wheezes next to him, putting a hand to her face, but Dean figures she just has a headache or something.

“Spare water bottle in the door, Chuckles,” he says helpfully – she probably got dehydrated, which is a big problem, if they’re about to go drink – and she sighs.

“Yup. Thanks, Dean.”

Jo, as it turns out, is a totally useless, selfish, _completely_ uncaring friend who prioritizes stupid drinking games over people who have practically been _brothers_ to her.

“What is that even supposed to be?” Dean demands, vaguely hysterical. “Because see, I thought the hell bitch came over and asked him to _dance,_ except that is not dancing, Charlie. That is _not dancing._ ”

Charlie makes a face at the pair on the dance floor, giving Dean’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“Well, it kind of is. They definitely have a rhythm,” she adds under her breath.

He tears his eyes away from where Meg is shamelessly grinding back against Cas in order to give Charlie an incredulous look.

“They do _not_! She – she’s being _obscene._ This is a family-friendly event!”

“Eh.” Charlie lifts a hand, tilting it from side-to-side. “You have to be at least sixteen to get in.”

“Exactly! Which means there are _kids_ here! They don’t need to see that!”

After all, Dean is twenty-three _,_ and he still doesn’t feel like he needs to be seeing that.

She sighs, taking a deep gulp of her Cosmo before turning to face him.

“Look, Dean, is it kinda gross? Yup. But is it also kinda just how people dance these days? Yup. And could you have _totally_ asked Cas to dance yourself instead of making awkward cow eyes at him while we all stood here and I struggled to keep a conversation going while pretending you _weren’t_ both being awkward? Also yup. _So_ – as much as I am one-hundred-percent in your corner here – if you don’t want him falling prey to Meg’s aggressive pelvic thrusts until she kisses him at midnight and takes him home for more, then _do something about it._ ”

And because that is the absolute _last_ thing Dean wants – because just thinking about it sort of makes his dinner start churning with a vengeance – he squares his shoulders, finishes her Cosmo - “Hey! Not cool, Winchester!” - and starts across the dance floor to make _sure_ it doesn’t happen.

“Mind if I cut in?”

Meg turns, tossing dark, curly hair over her shoulder and fixing him with a sly smile.

“Hmm. I don’t know, Deano. Clarence and I are having a _super_ good time, here.”

She punctuates this with a slow, suggestive shimmy up Cas’s front, crimson-nailed hands holding him in place.

Cas hesitates, eyes flicking to Dean’s uncertainly.

“We are, but-” he starts, except Meg abruptly leans back, tilting her head to rest on his shoulder. He looks down, startled, and the motion brings his mouth inches from her throat.

She rolls her hips back again, blowing out a breath

 _Objectively_ , she looks pretty damn hot.

 _Sub_ jectively, Dean wants to go back, grab Charlie’s new Cosmo, and pour it over her stupid head.

“Okay,” he says, gritting his teeth. “What about in a few minutes?”

She lifts her head, still moving sinuously up against Cas’s clean, freshly-pressed suit, definitely not in rhythm to any music _Dean’s_ hearing, and grins at him.

“But what if I wanted your angel for the whole night?”

Around them, the lights on the dance floor flash a variety of colors, though red is not one of them.

Still, that’s all Dean seems to see right now.

Abruptly, Meg steps away from Cas, letting out a loud, delighted laugh.

“God, you’re both precious.” She winks at Dean, then tilts up to give Cas a loud, wet kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you later, Clarence.”

To Dean’s irritation, she then leans up a little further, whispering something in his ear, something that makes his cheeks go pink, eyes darting to Dean before he quickly ducks his chin.

Cas almost never blushes, generally unfazed by, well, _most_ things, but Dean’s always kind of loved it when he does.

He loves it a little less when Meg is the one making it happen.

“Yeah, okay, Meg, it was real nice seeing you. Happy New Year,” he adds, all fake cheer, and she has the nerve to look even more amused than usual.

“You, too,” she drawls. “Enjoy yourselves.”

And then she sidles away, presumably off to find some other victim.

Dean lets out a quiet breath, turning to Cas with a small smile, though he’s still on edge.

“Sorry,” he lies. “Hope you don’t mind.”

Cas quickly shakes his head.

“Of course not.”

“Yeah? You sure?”

“Very sure,” Cas says firmly, blue eyes intent. “As enjoyable as Meg’s company can be, I’d been hoping to spend time with you tonight.”

Dean blinks.

Cas suddenly inhales, sharp.

“And everyone. All my friends, that is. Because I like them all.” Cas clears his throat. “Uh. You were – cutting in?” he prompts, and Dean shakes himself.

“Yeah. Yeah, if – well, you said it was okay, so – but we don’t have to dance, if you think that’d be – or if you don’t want to-”

“I want to,” Cas interrupts, and then he hesitates, and then he steps closer, and _then_ Dean sort of forgets to breathe. “I, um, I didn’t think you would, though.”

“Me?” Dean echoes, still struggling to remember how a respiratory system functions and, more specifically, how he might get his to actually do it.

“You don’t like dancing,” Cas says softly, although it’s almost like he’s swaying, drifting into Dean’s space with every breath he takes. “Or I thought you didn’t.”

For a moment, Dean’s confused – he’s not the world’s greatest dancer, or anything, but he’s decent, and he likes it okay, too – but then he remembers that it’s been a while since Cas attended a party with him, and that when he does, Dean’s a _terrible_ dancer.

Because if Cas is there, he kinda _has_ to be.

“Right, right. Uh. Bad memories,” he jokes, and Cas huffs a laugh, though there’s a flicker of anger in his eyes.

“You shouldn’t feel bad about that, Dean,” he insists quietly. “I admit, you’re a very . . . _creative_ dancer, but she shouldn’t have minded so much. Certainly, if it it had been m-”

Cas abruptly cuts off, the rose back in his cheeks, and clears his throat.

“Anyway. If you want to dance, I don’t care how you do it. For the record.”

Dean swallows, not quite able to look away. He feels bad, because Cas is still operating under the assumption that Dean’s prom date ditched him because he was an atrocious dancer – he wasn’t – and not because she was pissed about him paying more attention to Cas – he totally was – and that, as a result, Dean has suffered from a terrible complex ever since.

Anyways, as bad as he feels, it’s apparently not bad enough, because the next thing that comes out of his mouth is _not_ a long-past-due confession of the truth.

“You could teach me?”

Cas looks startled.

“Oh. I – I don’t know, Dean. I’m not very good myself. Mostly, I just try to imitate what I see everyone else doing.”

Dean shrugs, the back of his neck hot.

“You looked like you knew what you were doing with Meg,” he says, because apparently he hates himself. “Maybe we could do that.”

For an endless, terrifying moment, Cas just stares at him, lights flickering over his face as the music picks up speed and the crowd around them follows suit, a sudden frenzy of movement, though the two of them keep standing still.

Then he licks his lips.

“Okay.” He takes a deep breath, turning slightly, and then reaches back for Dean’s hands.

“Uh?” Dean queries, though he doesn’t protest. He doesn’t get to touch Cas’s hands a lot – doesn’t get to touch _Cas_ a lot, period – and he’s never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Cas just shrugs, stepping back, way back, enough that his heels touch the toes of Dean’s boots and Dean can smell his hair, inches away from his nose.

In fact, if he leaned back even a little, the rest of them would be touching, too.

Cas sets Dean’s hands on his hips.

“I don’t really understand it, to be honest,” he says. “But it’s not as difficult as you might think. I’m sure you’ll have it in no time.”

Dean nods dumbly, fingers twitching around the sharp points of the bones there, thumbs brushing the leather belt that rests above them.

He has no idea what the fuck Cas just said.

“Okay,” he agrees anyway, and Cas nods, then turns away entirely.

And then he _leans back._

“O-okay,” Dean squeaks, entirely unprepared for the long line of heat suddenly pressed against his front, but then Cas squeezes his hands, still holding Dean’s against his hips, and then -

And then he starts moving.

The thing is, as much as Dean might have complained to Charlie, and as much as he might have told some very elaborate lies to Cas, he _knows_ how people dance. He’s danced with quite a few people, himself, done the weird little dance floor grinding and even took some people home when it got particularly hot.

Still, he’s never danced quite like _this_ before _,_ and whatever his realistic kissing aspirations might have been, he certainly didn’t expect to tonight.

Not with _Cas._

“Move, Dean,” Cas tells him, head turning back, breath warm against Dean’s jaw. “Follow my lead.”

Heart pounding – which, _shit,_ Cas can probably feel that, because Cas is pressed flush to Dean’s chest, body practically undulating against his, still holding Dean’s hands in place – Dean shudders into motion, trying his best to comply.

It takes him a moment, because he’s still struggling to really process everything that’s happening here, Cas warm and solid as they move together, practically in Dean’s arms, but eventually, Dean gets it, rolls his body in time to the music, matching Cas’s rhythm, hands squeezing gently at his hips.

He swears he feels Cas sigh.

“See? Not difficult at all, Dean,” he says, barely audible over the music, and Dean nods his agreement, trying not to stare too hard at Cas’s neck or think about a universe where he could tip his chin forward, lightly mouth along it.

“You’re a good teacher,” he jokes, but it comes out a little hoarse, maybe even breathless, and for some reason, Cas shivers against him.

“Not really,” he protests, glancing back at Dean. “More often than not, I struggle to get my point across.”

“I doubt that,” Dean says, and Cas just shakes his head, releasing Dean’s hands and raising his own, reaching back and sliding them into Dean’s hair, and it takes all of Dean’s willpower not to fucking _moan._

“You’d be surprised,” Cas murmurs, back arching slightly and ass pushing towards Dean’s groin as a result, and even though Dean still maintains there’s something obscene about all this, he’s much less upset than he was when Meg did it to Cas.

Experimentally, Dean slides his hands up a little, tucking underneath Cas’s suit jacket and palming at his sides.

He can _feel_ Cas’s breath hitch.

Dean freezes.

“Ticklish?” he asks, not sure what to say, or if he’s maybe even a little bit in trouble, now.

Slowly, Cas shakes his head, fingers curling briefly in Dean’s hair.

“No,” is all he says, low and dark, and God, what Dean wouldn’t give to tug Cas back against him and _really_ give the guests a show.

He experiences a wave of guilt immediately after, though, and forces himself to pull away a little. Cas is literally just doing what he saw Meg do, because he thinks Dean’s a shit dancer and needed the easy role; for Dean to read too much into that, to think about pulling Cas’s hips flush against his and grinding against him, or wish he could take Cas’s hand and lead him somewhere private for even more – it’s a massive betrayal of trust.

After all, even if it turns out Cas doesn’t mind kissing him, the rest of this stuff probably isn’t anywhere close to being on his radar. Nah, Cas is just dancing, the way he thinks he’s supposed to, and whatever weird sexual undercurrents Dean’s imagining are just that – his _imagination._

After a moment, Cas’s arms slowly fall.

“Is everything alright?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Just – uh. I was thinking I could use a drink.”

“Oh.” Abruptly, Cas steps away, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yes, that – that sounds nice. I’ll come, too.”

And honestly, the thought of getting a drink never actually crossed his mind, but now that he’s mentioned it – Dean could sure as hell use one.

Anyway, Dean’s not sure he can do any more modern dancing with Cas without embarrassing himself, one way or another, so when they’ve finished their oversweet blue drinks and the DJ’s switched from fast-paced EDM to wholesome holiday classics, Dean raises a brow at Cas and promptly breaks out the worst moves in his arsenal.

Cas sticks close by, anyway, a smile on his face, and in the lights of the dance floor, Dean thinks his eyes almost shine.

The next problem, of course, happens when Dean excuses himself to the bathroom.

Now, Dean already worried about this when he made his plans, because he’s not completely stupid, and he’s seen plenty of trashy movies, and he _knows_ that leaving Cas unattended for even a few minutes is a recipe for disaster, as far as tentative seductions go. Anything could happen while Dean is off taking a piss like an idiot, and that is precisely why Dean’s made sure not to drink unless Cas is, too.

Thus, when _Dean_ indicates he needs to head for the men’s room, Cas pipes up in agreement, and _bam._ Shitty rom-com crisis averted.

Except, it turns out Dean didn’t plan as far ahead as he should have, because once they’re there, he realizes he has more complicated business to conduct than previously anticipated – the kind that requires a stall and an extra three minutes at _least_ before he’ll be comfortable going back out to the dance floor.

And as worried as he is about unexpected midnight-kiss sabotage, the bathroom is also tiny enough that he feels like he has no choice but to tell Cas to go on ahead, and he resigns himself to just trying to hurry and hope for the best. Of course, Cas politely insists on waiting, so Dean hastens to the furthest stall away and crosses his fingers that it’s far enough.

He’s barely sat down when he hears the door swing open, followed by a suspiciously British-sounding crow of delight.

“Cassie! There you are! I was worried you’d be too busy dirty dancing with that great oaf of yours all night and I wouldn’t get to say hello!”

Dean grits his teeth, and not because he’s having bathroom trouble.

Fucking _Balthazar._

“Bal,” Cas returns, mildly reproachful, and Balthazar chuckles.

“I know, I know. Not an oaf. How are you, love? I heard you had terrible flu. Vomited on Santa and everything.”

Which – this is a _bathroom._ People are trying to _poop_ in here; is he seriously trying to strike up a _conversation_?

“ _Bal,_ ” Cas hisses. “I’m well, thank you. Please don’t mention it.”

The asshole just laughs again.

“Oh, God, he’s in one of the stalls isn’t he? Of course, of course, why else would you be lurking in the men’s room? You’re never that much fun on your own.”

Dean makes a face. What a weirdo.

“Hello, Winchester!” Balthazar calls, and Dean stiffens, appalled. “Alright in there?”

Dean gapes at the toilet paper dispenser, speechless, but fortunately, Cas saves him from having to answer.

“ _Out,_ ” he snaps, and there’s an audible shuffle, Balthazar letting out an undignified yelp. “ _Now._ ”

Dean holds his breath, undeniably hopeful – and a moment later, he hears the door shut.

Silence descends across the bathroom, and at last, Dean feebly concludes his bowel movement in peace.

“-a terrible person and I don’t know why I’m friends with you.”

“Because I’m _dashing,_ Cassie. And hilarious.”

“You are _not,_ ” Cas retorts, and Dean smirks at the viciousness in his tone. “Not at all.”

“But I am! Everyone says so. Well, mostly. Gabriel does, anyway.”

“Gabriel is as unfunny as you are. Now be quiet, before he comes b-”

“Dean!” Balthazar practically shouts, a cheeky grin crossing his face. “Here I thought you’d gotten stuck in a toilet.”

Dean scowls, humor dying.

“Your _face_ got stuck in a-”

“ _Anyway,_ ” Cas interrupts, giving both of them an impatient look. “Balthazar was just leaving.”

“Was I? Here I thought I was working up to getting a dance out of you.”

Dean’s heart sinks.

As much as it pains him to admit it, Balthazar _is_ a friend – a good one, even if he’s obnoxious as hell to Dean – and it’d just be crazy of Dean to try and veto a dance, even if he and Cas were actually dating, which they aren’t.

(Yet.)

Cas hesitates, briefly glancing toward Dean.

“Sorry, Bal. I can’t. I, uh. I twisted my ankle.”

Dean straightens, frowning.

“What? When?”

Cas shrugs.

“I’m not sure. Anyway, I – I don’t think I should dance for the rest of the night. But you go ahead, Bal.”

Balthazar studies him, concerned, though he looks thoughtful.

“Well, alright. If you’re sure.” He abruptly smiles, winking at Cas, and Dean politely doesn’t think it looks dumb as all get out. “Find me if you change your mind.”

Cas nods, smiling back.

“I will. Thank you, Bal; enjoy yourself.”

“I always do,” he quips, and with one last smirking nod at Dean, he’s off.

Anyway, Dean’s got more important things to worry about, now that Balthazar’s finally gone.

“C’mon. We should sit down.”

Cas blinks, and then he smiles, blue eyes warm.

Dean’s stomach flips.

“Alright.”

Clearing his throat, Dean slowly starts toward the tables, keeping an eye on Cas in case it looks like he needs some help. He seems to be doing alright, but Dean hovers close, anyway, afraid he’ll step wrong and end up crashing to the ground or something.

“Which leg is it?” he asks, and Cas tilts his head, brow creasing.

“What?”

“Your ankle – left or right?”

“Oh.” Cas swallows. “Uh. Left.”

Dean nods, pulling a chair out from an empty table as they reach it, and gestures for Cas to sit.

“Want me to find some ice for you?”

Cas quickly shakes his head.

“No, that’s alright. It’s very minor. I just – I’d just like to sit with you, for a while. If that’s okay.”

“Yeah, sure, of course.” It’s more than okay, obviously. Dean couldn’t have planned it better himself. “You should’ve told me you hurt yourself, though.”

Cas shrugs, eyes briefly flicking to the slide.

“I assumed we were done dancing, anyway. It didn’t seem important.”

“Still. It’s, uh. It’s good to know these things. I can help remind you to take it easy.”

Cas smiles slightly.

“Please do.”

Dean smiles back; the butterflies in his stomach are acting up again, but they’ve basically been leasing said organ for practically a decade at this point, so he lets them be.

“So, Cas. Excited about the New Year?”

Cas wrinkles his nose.

“Not if it’s anything like the last one,” he says bluntly, and Dean laughs.

“Yeah. 2019 was kind of a flaming piece of shit.”

“To put it mildly,” Cas says, dry, and Dean shakes his head with a snort, lightly knocking Cas’s good foot with his own.

“Yeah, alright. You and I did okay, though,” he points out, and at that, Cas smiles again, shooting him a sidelong glance.

“Yes. I suppose we did.”

“I mean, it could have been _better,_ ” he acknowledges, because they both had family drama and the spring semester was tough, and Cas is still working part-time while he tries to find a permanent position, now that they’re graduated – but nobody died and even if Dean never quite got that kiss, they spent a lot of the year together.

“But it could have been worse,” Cas finishes for him, nodding, and nope; Dean really can’t complain, not seriously.

“Yeah.” Dean props an elbow on the table, resting his chin on his hand and giving Cas a serious look. “So. Got any New Year’s Resolutions?”

Cas considers this for a moment, then shakes his head.

“No. I usually don’t. Honestly, I don’t really get the point. I think for the most part, we’re all just . . . trying our best. Whatever happens happens, regardless of calendar benchmarks.”

“Yeah, alright. That’s fair. Still . . . it’s not always a bad thing. Sometimes it can help remind you to – I don’t know. Take a moment and think about what you want.”

Cas is quiet for a few seconds, and then he shakes his head, smile rueful.

“Perhaps. Not for me, though. I already know what I want.”

For no good reason, Dean’s heart skips a beat.

“Yeah?”

Cas nods.

“Yes. And if I thought there was something I could do to get it, I wouldn’t wait around for January.”

Which – Dean’s not sure what Cas is talking about, though he’s insanely curious – it’s probably just his dream job, or something – but he just barely stops himself from asking.

Cas would tell him, if he wanted Dean to know.

“Well. I, uh. I hope you get it.”

Cas studies him for a moment, then slowly, he nods.

“Thank you,” he says quietly. “I hope so, too.”

Not sure what to do, and suddenly a little breathless for no reason he can think of, Dean stands and offers to go get them some drinks.

Anyway, they end up sitting there for over an hour; the conversation’s back to normal, when Dean returns, and even though he’s still a little worried about Cas’s ankle, a part of him is selfishly pleased by the unexpected turn of events. Things have been busy lately, and since they both moved back home for the sake of finances, they don’t see each other as much as they did rooming together in college.

Sitting with Cas, just chatting about nothing – it’s really _nice._

Several people stop by to talk while they’re there, and a few of them even try to coax Dean or Cas back out to dance. Cas turns them down, of course, apologetically explaining his ankle, and when it’s _Dean_ they’re trying to get out there . . .

Cas goes quiet, examining the tablecloth, and Dean tells them all he’s way too tired.

Besides, only a shitty friend wouldn’t stay and keep their injured friend company, right? It’s got nothing to do with wanting to spend as much time with Cas as he can, or the random antics of butterfly tenants in his digestive tract.

Eventually, though, midnight starts drawing near, and Dean starts getting antsy. Charlie nearly startles him out of his own skin five minutes before the hour, popping up behind his chair and blowing into a goddamn party horn right next to his fucking ear.

“Charlie,” he barks, traumatized, and she beams, slapping him on the back.

“Come count down with us!”

Dean flicks an uneasy glance at Cas.

“I don’t know. With his ankle like that, I’m not sure it’s a good idea to be wandering around . . .”

Charlie hums, eyes darting between them before she grins, unmistakably full of mischief.

“True,” she says slowly. “Oh, _I_ know! Why doesn’t he just lean on you? Problem solved!”

Dean gulps.

“Uhh . . .”

“Cas, what do you think?” she asks brightly.

Cas is carefully inspecting the table again – Dean supposes the tablecloth does have a cool, glittery thing going – but he shrugs.

“That’s fine. It, um. It would be nice to participate.”

“Oh.” Dean coughs. “Yeah, of course. Let’s go.”

He stands, turning toward Cas’s chair and crouching slightly so Cas can put an arm around him and get some help up. When he glances over at Charlie, wondering if this looks as awkward as it feels, she winks.

He quickly looks back at Cas’s hair, pretending not to notice.

“Ready?” he asks Cas, and Cas nods, arm tightening around Dean’s shoulder.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Yeah, sure, man. What are friends f-” He cuts off, Charlie’s arm suddenly swinging wide, smacking the shoulder Cas isn’t leaning into, and he gives her a weird look. “Dude. Are you okay?”

“Yup,” she says brightly. “Just stretching.”

“Right.” Maybe Charlie’s had more to drink than usual. He hopes she ended up finishing that water he gave her.

They settle among the growing crowd, chatting a little with nearby friends while they wait for the countdown to begin; as the minutes pass, though, Cas a warm weight against his side, Dean can’t help it. All year, the strategy has been to find an opportunity to kiss him, one where they can laugh it off and easily go back to normal without any awkward conversations, and even though all his previous attempts failed, more than Charlie even knows about – they were _attempts._

Cas is practically hanging off of him, right now; come midnight, for anybody else to be the one to kiss Cas would just be _awkward,_ and Dean can’t imagine anyone making the effort.

Which means that in less than two minutes, Dean’s finally gonna do it. Every thwarted game of Spin the Bottle and Seven Minutes in Heaven, through middle school and high school and beyond, every underwhelming mistletoe and insufficient glass of liquid courage – they’re all behind him, now, and tonight, after ten years, he’s finally going to do what all of it failed to bring about.

And as much as that _terrifies_ him, has his heart beating so fast he wouldn’t be surprised if Cas could hear it, he also can’t help but _hope._

They were a good ten years, despite the ones that had more downs than ups. And just like this last one, one of the things that made them good, that gave him so many of the ups he did have, the moments he’s always going to treasure -

It was being with Cas.

But Dean wasn’t the only one there, and the fact that after ten years, Cas is still with him, in some way, still seems content to spend his New Year’s Eve dancing and sitting at a table with Dean . . .

Maybe Dean’s one of the good things for Cas, too.

Maybe even good enough that Cas could want something more, if Dean gives him the option.

Maybe tonight, he won’t just _kiss_ Cas; _m_ _aybe_ he’ll get something even better.

(Maybe, maybe, maybe.)

Before he knows it, they’ve started the countdown, Cas catching his eye, a smile on his face and a strangely serious look in his gaze, and by the time they’ve made it to ten, Cas has shifted, facing Dean more fully, the hand on his shoulder grasping tightly.

Dean thinks he knows what happens next, and even if he was planning on it, it doesn’t make it any less exciting.

“ _Five! Four! Three! Two! ONE!!!”_

The last number doesn’t even leave his lips; Cas is already leaning in, eyes falling shut, and as the crowd cheers and glitter and confetti start pouring down from what feels like nowhere, Dean closes the distance and, at last, presses their lips together.

They kiss for what feels like forever, the crowd loud and swarming around them, utterly unimportant, but it’s still not really enough for Dean. Cas’s hands are in his hair, mouth warm and sweet against his own, still demanding in its way, and Dean feels like the giant lighted Rudolph in his mother’s front yard, immense and softly glowing in the night.

But then forever ends and Cas is pulling away, breaths short and fast through kiss-swollen lips and blue eyes wide as he stares at Dean, and mostly, he just looks shocked.

“Cas?”

Abruptly, Cas turns, and even though it must be hell on his ankle, he makes a beeline for the terrace.

After a moment of bewildered silence, Dean’s brain finally comes back online, and he doesn’t waste another second.

He follows.

It takes a moment to find Cas, once Dean’s through the doors; there’s a few people out there, couples necking, wrapped up in their own worlds, and some stragglers smoking cigarettes or playing on their phones, but then he spots Cas, leaned against the wall in his own quiet little corner, and Dean quickly forgets about all of them.

“Uh. Hey,” he says, and Cas stiffens. He looks up, but only briefly, eyes moving back to the terrace stones.

“Hello, Dean.”

They stand in silence for a long moment. The butterflies are quiet, finally; in fact, it feels a little like they’ve been replaced by stones, settling heavy at the bottom of his stomach.

“Sorry about that,” Dean eventually offers, a little numb. It’s stupid, but a part of him is surprised. He doesn’t know _why_ he’s surprised – after all, if he really thought Cas liked him back, he would have just kissed him outright ages ago, wouldn’t he? - but he is, and somewhere in the clunky lower depths of his brain, it’s making him feel like shit.

At least the surprise means he’s not going to start crying, or anything.

Cas’s lips twitch downward, shoulders pulling higher, but he nods.

“Of course.”

Dean’s not sure what that means.

“I – I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he tries, at a loss. _Flawless,_ he’d thought. There weren’t supposed to be awkward conversations.

This? This is definitely awkward.

(Among other things.)

“Oh, no, you – you didn’t. We’re, um. We’re friends, Dean. New Year’s kisses . . . well, they’re New Year’s kisses. They’re – meaningless.” Cas hesitates, which is fine, because Dean definitely needs a moment to process _that._ “Did it make _you_ uncomfortable _?”_

At that, he almost laughs. The _kiss_ certainly didn’t, given that Dean’s been pining for it for almost a decade, but Cas _calling_ it meaningless is provoking a decidedly ‘uncomfortable’ feeling inside of Dean.

The sort of uncomfortable that makes him want to crawl into bed with a really soft plush toy and a gallon of ice cream and cry himself to sleep, maybe.

He forces himself to smile, tucking his hands in his pockets and finally looking away from Cas. It’s clear from Cas’s body language that he wants to be as far as earthly possible from this situation, as _soon_ as possible, and even if Dean clearly overstepped and fucked things up in there, he’s going to do his best to give him that.

“Nah. Like you said, buddy. We’re friends.” Dean clears his throat, smiling a little wider and hoping it looks at least mostly normal. “What are friends for?” he jokes.

For an endless-feeling moment, Cas says nothing.

And then he smiles back, a brittle sort of smile Dean’s never seen before but makes him feel strangely crushed, and nods.

“Exactly. Let’s go back inside.”

Without waiting for a response, Cas pushes off the wall and heads for the terrace doors.

Dean waits a few minutes before he follows.

Of course, Dean avoids him for the rest of the night. Obviously, that wasn’t a normal, friendly New Year’s kiss, which was one-hundred-percent Dean’s fault, and since Dean’s feeling a little raw and shell-shocked himself, he decides it’s best to just give Cas some space.

Cas doesn’t fight it, and they don’t leave until about three AM, Dean too wasted to protest when Charlie shoves him into the backseat and drives Baby to her house like it’s some shitty, bottom-of-the-line Ford.

Eight hours after that, Dean crawls off the sofa bed, stomach fragile, and carefully avoids meeting Cas’s eyes over the pancakes he eats anyway.

Cas leaves after breakfast.

He doesn't say a word to Dean all morning.

“I fucked up.”

“Probably,” Charlie agrees, although she sounds sympathetic, so he lets it slide.

“I kissed him. Just like I planned.”

“I saw,” she says, nodding sagely, and he grimaces, rubbing his eyes.

“But I did it wrong, and I - I guess I made it weird. He said he wasn’t uncomfortable, but – he was definitely uncomfortable.”

“I mean . . . you don’t _know_ that.”

“He literally left the building to get away from me.”

“Technically, the terrace is part of the-”

“Charlie.”

She sighs.

“Did you talk to him about it?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Still, she looks insultingly surprised.

“Oh. Wow. What’d he say?”

Dean shrugs.

“That he wasn’t uncomfortable because we’re ‘friends,’ and New Year’s kisses are ‘meaningless.’ The usual stuff a guy loves to hear from the other guy he’s crazy about.”

“Ouch,” she says, wincing, although she looks a little confused. “Although . . . really? _Cas_ said that?”

Dean nods, trying not to feel too bitter.

Cas is allowed to not want him.

Dean’s not sure what else he’d expect.

“Anyway . . . you saw us this morning. Shit’s still weird, and I don’t know how to fix it. The whole point of using New Year’s as an excuse was so we’d still be okay, if it turned out he didn’t – you know. That he wasn’t into it. But he wasn’t and we’re not and – shit, I don’t know. I have no fucking clue what to do here.”

Charlie’s silent for a minute, chewing at her lip, eyes troubled.

And then she nods.

“Okay. I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you go home and nurse your hangover and try not to worry-” Dean snorts, but she ignores him. “And _I_ will hang out here and . . . think of a solution.”

“Not sure there is one.”

She shrugs.

“Worth a shot. For me, though. Not for you. _You’re_ gonna be useless today, I can tell.”

He sighs.

“Gee, thanks, Charlie.”

“Oh, come on. You know I’m right.”

He does, which is precisely why he gives her a hug before he leaves, anyway.

Still, he doubts she can come up with anything.

No, Dean’s royally fucked and it’s his own damn fault, and now -

Now he might just have to live with it.

He lives with it for approximately eleven hours before, back in bed and eyes drooping as midnight approaches, his doorbell rings.

Dean checks the clock, perturbed. It’s literally fifteen to twelve, and whoever’s at the door should just be grateful Mary’s at a party and can’t go down there to chase them off with a shotgun. Even Sam, gentle giant that he is, would probably have some choice words for their midnight guest if he weren't off cavorting with friends in Aspen.

Anyway, Dean decides to stay put, hoping it’s just some neighborhood pranksters, but then the bell rings again, followed by a brief pause before it goes off two times in quick succession, and _that –_ that, Dean recognizes.

He rolls out of bed and hustles downstairs to the front door, alarmed.

“Dude, what are you doing here?” he asks, once the door is opened and it’s apparent Cas at least isn’t bleeding anywhere. “Did something happen?”

Cas hesitates, searching Dean’s face, and only then remembers to nod.

Dean panics a little.

“What? What happened?”

Cas blinks.

“What? Oh. No, sorry, nothing – nothing happened, except for – uh.” Cas frowns, then visibly swallows. “May I come in?”

“Uh. Sure.” Dean steps aside, awkwardly waving him in, though Cas has been here loads of times, over the years. “Knock yourself out.”

Cas flashes a faint smile, and hurries past Dean into the house. Dean shuts the door behind him, absentmindedly locking up as he tries to figure out what Cas is doing here, at this hour.

He doesn’t really like his options.

“So . . . if nobody’s dying, what brings you here?”

It takes Cas a moment to answer, and Dean braces himself, pretty sure the next words out of his mouth are going to be ‘I wanted to talk to you about last night.’

Of course, Dean has a pretty good idea of exactly how _that_ talk will go, and he was really hoping to avoid it altogether.

“Well. I, um. I’ve been spending the evening on – on New Year’s resolutions.”

Dean blinks, not sure he heard that right.

“New Year’s resolutions?” Cas nods. “Okay. Thought you didn’t believe in those. Hell, I read an article today about how they’re pointless and just end up making people feel bad.”

For some reason, Cas’s shoulders slump.

“Ah. Yes – probably. After all, what I have so far . . . I think at least one of them is impossible.”

Despite himself, Dean gives Cas a puzzled look.

“Dude, it’s _you._ Sure, you’re weird, but you’re practically perfect. I don’t know what you put on the list, but whatever it is, I bet you can do it.”

Cas looks at him, startled, and then he sort of smiles, although there’s still something tense about him.

“Well, I’m certainly not perfect. Not at all. You just . . . you see the best in people, or at least in me.” He pauses. “But there is one thing, that I’ve been struggling with. For a long time. I just – I don’t know if I’m capable of fixing it.”

Dean frowns.

“What’s that?”

There’s a much, much longer pause this time, Cas sort of staring blankly at him, and then suddenly, he takes a deep breath. As he reaches into his pocket, Dean swears his hands are shaking.

“Do you want to see it? My list?”

“Uh. Okay, sure.” Dean’s upset – after all, Cas is _just_ his friend, and any kisses they share are _meaningless –_ but he can’t deny he’s curious. This is _Cas,_ after all. Anything he thinks is worth putting down on paper is probably worth Dean reading.

Besides, if Cas is working through some stuff – Dean’s his _friend._ His dumb broken heart isn’t Cas’s fault, not even close, and he owes it to Cas to be there for him, even if it’s not the way he’s been dreaming of.

Wordlessly, Cas hands the little notebook sheet over, and Dean unfolds it, not really sure what to expect.

“You don’t need to read more books, man,” he says promptly, eyes going to the first item on the list, and Cas huffs a laugh, though he stares at Dean, almost expectant.

Dean moves to resolution #2 – it’s been a cold winter, and Cas has definitely skipped more morning runs than he’d like – and continues down, thus far unsurprised.

Until he gets to item #4, that is.

_New Year’s Resolutions_

_1\. Read more books_

_2\. Start running in the mornings again_

_3\. Drink less coffee_

_4\. Fall out of love with Dean_

For a long moment, Dean just stares, uncomprehending.

“Uh. Is – is Dean a guy at work?”

Cas’s expression tightens, but then he looks down, shaking his head slightly.

“No,” he mumbles. “It’s you.”

The air gets stuck in Dean’s lungs, borderline painful but refusing to budge.

“Me?” he echoes stupidly.

Cas gives a short nod.

“I’ve tried halfheartedly, before, but – I was thinking . . . it’s probably time.” He pauses, Dean still trying to process what he’s seeing, what he’s _hearing._ “At – at some point, it’s pathetic, isn’t it? If you haven’t thought of me that way by now, you’re probably not going to. And even if you don’t notice, consciously – it must make you uncomfortable. It, um. It’d be better, for both of us, if I didn’t. Feel that way, I mean.”

Which makes it sounds like Cas _feels_ a certain way, the kind of way that would be incredibly relevant to Dean, given the way _Dean_ feels, but that’s impossible.

They’re _just friends,_ and kisses are meaningless.

Aren’t they?

Except ‘Fall out of love with Dean’ is one of Cas’s New Year’s resolutions and Cas is turning red, bright eyes dimming, posture going awkward, and how can somebody fall _out_ of love with you without having been in love with you in the first place? They can’t, not as far as Dean knows, which _means-_

“You _love_ me?” Dean chokes out, astounded, and Cas looks ashamed.

“I’m sorry,” he says, like he really is, like in any universe, Cas being in love with him is anything other than a goddamn _miracle._ “Charlie said – but I see that she was wrong. I shouldn’t have-”

And Dean doesn’t want to hear the rest of that sentence, doesn’t want Cas to ever think having the courage to come here and tell Dean what he’s been waiting to hear, what he thought he’d wait until he _died_ without ever getting, is a mistake.

So he surges forward, clasps Cas’s warm, flushed cheeks in both hands, and then he kisses him.

“Don’t fall out of love with me,” he begs unashamedly, desperately pressing his mouth to Cas’s, sure he’s dreaming but also sure that none of his many, many dreams have ever felt as good and real and solid as this. “Don’t ever fall out of love with me. Fuck your New Year’s resolutions, Cas. Stay in bed with me in the mornings and drink coffee with me in the afternoons and watch _Dr. Sexy_ with me instead of reading your books and don’t ever, _ever_ fall out of love with me.”

Cas makes a strangled noise, something that comes out almost like a sob, and then he seizes Dean’s shoulders, holding him close.

“I won’t,” he promises, fierce, and relief washes over Dean, euphoric and blissful and _jesus,_ Cas is _in love with him._ “I wrote it down because that’s what you’re supposed to do, you’re supposed to write down impossible things and feel lousy when you don’t do them, but I won’t – I _can’t –_ I – Dean, I think I’m going to love you forever, at this point, whether you want me to or not.”

“I do,” Dean answers immediately, and then he kisses him again, because he _can,_ because he doesn’t need an excuse, for once, because it’s practically written right there on the goddamn paper, and never mind having to talk Cas into it, Cas was with him this whole goddamn time. “Fuck, that’s all I’ve _ever_ wanted, Cas. All I’m ever going to. Even if you change your mind and run away with Balthazar or Meg, I’ll still want that. I don’t know how not to.”

Cas stares, wide-eyed and panting.

And then he huffs, squeezing Dean’s shoulders so hard it almost hurts.

“Don’t be an idiot,” he snaps, sounding honest-to-God _offended_ by the notion, but then he shoves Dean back against the door and kisses him some more, kisses him until they’re both speechless and wanting, until Dean’s had enough and manhandles him up the stairs to his childhood bedroom and _then_ -

Well, and then they ring in the New Year with a bang.

\- end


End file.
